Kiss Me, Ma Cherie
by Seabound
Summary: No matter how much the world tries to plague their love and happiness, they will always have each other, and one person's legacy to live on and honor. Amy/Ian Amian/Iamy


**Author's Note: **You know that weird sad mood you get in after read a book? Like those books with sad endings, even though nothing was wrong and it ended in an 'happily ever after'? What I'm trying to say, is I'm in this odd sort of mood and needed to write this. And I have to say, I think this is the piece I'm most proud of.

**Disclaimer:** I, AmberCahill, only own the plot and words written below. I do not own 'The 39 Clues'; the author's that have created the series do. If the need to contact me arrises, please do it through the reviews - I don't use my PM.

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1.

Jade eyes mist with fresh tears as the twenty year old gazes out the window. Though she can barely see past the massive clumps of clouds the private airplane hovers over, lush green grass peeks through, causing the liquid to break free. The sun is bright, and she knows everyone is going about their business below. It's too happy for a funeral, especially one that consisted of the two people she held closest to her heart. It should have been raining, and the white fluffy cotton balls should have been grey. She wanted it to be dark, matching the black dress she wore, and didn't want to see light any time soon.

Nellie and Uncle Fiske were gone, and it had been her fault. There were so many things she should have done to keep them safe, but she had let them get some dinner without any protection, vulnerable to the hungry Vesper rogues waiting near their favorite diner. Her focus should have been on the monitor in the Command Room, not her growling stomach. But by the time she had looked, it had been too late. The guilt lay heavy on her heart, knowing that there were millions of things she should have done instead of what she did.

She smoothes the creases of the silky, black material, slipping off the uncomfortable pumps. She pulls the dark ribbon out of her hair, and allows the strands of red to fall over her face. She feels so alone, as if she were flying away from Ireland, leaving everything behind in the Cahill graveyard. She doesn't care that the loneliness would end when she reached Boston in six hours to meet the rest of her relatives. Her soul feels empty, devoid of all the happiness in her world. Nothing could fix it, not even the company of her family that mourned with her.

She hears the faint sound of footsteps in the otherwise empty jet. The man in front of her has black her swept across his forehead, jacket slung on his shoulder, and tie undone. He looks disheveled, completely unlike himself. He tosses his, coat on the table of the snack bar, and shoves his hands in his pockets. A deep sigh emits from his lips, and the sob that she had been trying to hold so long breaks free. Her vision blurs, and she avoids looking at his face, knowing that if she did, there would be concerned creases present across his forehead, and more at the edges of his amber eyes.

"Amy," he says softly, taking longs strides forward, sitting next to her. He pulls the trembling girl onto his lap and she buries her face into his crisp shirt, inhaling the scent of musky clove as she breaks. His arms encircle her shaking body, smoothing her hair and planting kisses on the top of her head. She rests it in the crook of his neck, and her hands curl into loose fists. He squeezes her tighter, holding her against him like a small child. He's touching her with soothing strokes, and she hiccups as wet tears splash onto him.

"It's okay, love," Ian murmurs. "Let it all out."

His embrace is so warm, so calming, she can't help but cry more. He's being so helpful and supportive, it tears her apart knowing that she doesn't deserve him. What she doesn't know is that it breaks _his _heart, seeing her like this. He fills with so much love, it hurts him not to be able to show her how much. Instead, he brings his mouth to her ear, kissing her neck, whispering three words like a mantra meant only for her. And he knows that the reason why she won't show her face is because being weak is just not her and she's too shrouded in grief to say them back.

His own eyes well with tears for the first time in years, and he closes them, inhaling lavender and vanilla and all the scents that tell him it's just him and her, and no one else. They're hurting, hurting so much, that the thought of potentially losing each other crumbles them further. Her body shakes with goosebumps as his hands carefully travel along her arms and across her legs. She loops her hands around his neck, the sound of her crying ceasing and sniffles filling their place. He continues to run his fingers through her hair until she grows silent, sighing into his neck.

He's drawn out of his thoughts when her lips leave chaste kisses across his jaw, pulling him closer to touch his cheeks. His eyes close again when she brushes her thumbs over his lashes and eyelids. He cups her face, and her hands cover his as they lock eyes, jade contrasting with molten gold. She frowns as she wipes the wet trails across his face, seeing them for the first time in her life.

"Ian, are you okay?" she asks.

He smiles ruefully. "I should be asking you that."

"Well, I'm fine," she replies. "Thank you... For everything."

Ian kisses her nose. "It's no problem. And I'm fine, too."

"You know," Amy says softly, noting the pained look it his eyes. "It's okay to cry. You don't have to be strong all the time."

He tucks the hair from her face behind her ear. "I'm all right. Let me get some water."

Even though she's concerned, she lets him go. He's never been one to show his feelings, and this time it was a slip, a mistake. She knows that it's the way he was raised, but she wishes he would open up - at least to her. She wants to be able to comfort him the way he does to her, but it takes time to take apart the barriers he's built around himself. She rises to wash her face in the bathroom, and wets a few washcloths, before squeezing the excess water. Amy returns to find Ian, and he hands her a glass of water. She drains it in seconds due to thirst and licks her chapped lips.

She crosses her legs next to him, and tugs him closer. She takes the cool, wet cloth and gently rubs his face. His breath hitches as the refreshing coldness travels over his forehead, his eyelids, and his chiseled jaw. She traces her fingers across his cheeks before wiping them clean. She runs is once more across his face before tossing it in a nearby bin in the jet. Her eyes meet his sad, amber orbs and she throws her arms around him.

They were both falling into a trench of darkness. Two people were all it took, especially if those people were the ones that strengtheded the family and were always there for them. Ian glanced out the window when Amy pulled away, and checked his watch.

"Do you want to change? There's an hour and a half before we get to Attleboro," he says.

Amy nods, setting off to change into a light pink, knee-length winter dress, and a white sweater. She pulls on brown wedged boots, clipped her hair into a bun, and wears a matching headband. When she emerges, she sees that Ian's replaced his suit with a full-sleeved, navy tee, and dark jeans. She raises an eyebrow.

"The great Ian Kabra wearing jeans?" she says, grinning. "Never though I'd see the day that would happened."

His expression brightens to see her smile, and he remarks, "Shut it. It's still Armani."

"Naturally," she replies, rolling her eyes. She pecks him on the lips, and he his head tilts with a frown. "What? Is there something on my face?"

He chuckles. "No," he says, unclipping her hair and letting the soft, natural waves cascade down her back. "I like it better this way."

Confusion turns into embarrassment, and her face reddens to nearly the same shade as her hair. She beams at him, inhaling his scent as she tightens her hold on him. His chest vibrates with laughter, and her voice joins in, later settling to a sad smile. "I miss Uncle Fiske and Nellie," she mumbles.

"I know, love. I do, too."

She wraps her arms around his neck, standing on her toes and pressing her cheek to his stubble. It tickles her, but the sensation is pleasant. Ian smiles, the gesture lighting his eyes, gazing into her eyes before muttering the four words that she loves to hear.

"Kiss me, ma cherie."

o.o.O.o.o

The kiss is sweet and hesitant, just like all her kisses, but this one is tinted with a sense of forlorn longing. Ian wraps his arms around her small frame, and she stands on his shoes to reach him better; she's a head shorter than his six feet. She runs her hand through his silky hair, the other resting behind his neck. He cups her cheek, and wraps an arm around her waist, bringing her closer. Their bodies are flush against each other, but their movements are gentle.

Their lips move together, slowly and passionately. Amy draws his upper lips between her own and Ian does to her lower. His tongue sweeps across her mouth, drinking in her sweet essence. She doesn't want to let go until he does, but she has to break away for a gasp of air. He places chaste ones to the corner of her lips before giving her another that lingers for a bit longer.

Their lips are red and swollen, but their hearts swell further with affection. The next hour flies as they seek comfort in one another, wrapped in embraces and kisses. As he helps her out of the plane and into the limousine, she keeps a firm grasp on his hand as if he might float away. He squeezes it back, letting her know he'll never let go.

But even though they're plagued with the sorrow's of their world, a mother's legacy lives on, leaving them to strive for the future.

_Hope._


End file.
